


In Sweetness and Songs

by StellarRequiem



Series: Another Time and Place [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied Relationship, agressive affection, kiss, sansa all grown up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1680698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellarRequiem/pseuds/StellarRequiem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Context, what context? Sometime in the distant future Sansa addresses Sandor's desire to travel on from an undisclosed location, because why world-build when you can imagine whatever canon floats your boat. Basically there's flirtation, and aggressive but affectionate gestures, and kisses, and a song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sweetness and Songs

She stands between him and the door. There isn't any color in her face, except for her lips, a shade not far removed from expensive southern fruits and probably made so by the conscious application of the same natural dyes. Her eyes are wide, and wild.

"You're leaving?" she demands. He shrugs.  
"Have you got a reason to keep me, little bird?"

"Have you not a reason to stay?"

He snorts. He doesn't intend to hover here as a houseguest forever, and he tells her so. A little crumple forms in the smooth skin between her brows. He steps towards her, and watches the crumple deepen, turning her flesh into hills and valleys, but she looks at him steadily enough. She hasn't had any trouble doing so since he'd arrived, a credit to the growing she's done in his absence and to the thickening of that porcelain skin. She's a proper woman now: Full and shapely and considerably less blind to the world. A slightly bigger bird with slightly stronger wings. But she still chirps plenty.

"If it's employment you seek," she offers, backing herself up to the door and pinning herself there by her own long hair, "I've not had a guard I trusted in a long while."  
He laughs, and she looks at him with her crinkled brow and her lips pressed a little more tightly together, paleness sneaking in under her makeup from the pressure.  
"In exchange for what? For kisses and songs?"

She lifts her sharp little chin.  
"If that's is what you would prefer. Knights, in my experience, quite like to be paid in land and gold and fine armor and horses, but last we spoke of it you told me you were no knight, and you ride but one horse."  
He laughs again.

"So you would have me as a sellsword, and pay me in lodging and sweetness? I don't wonder that you can't find a reliable guard."  
"I've never tried paying one in sweetness before, my lord."

She places a tiny hand in the center of his enormous chest, and he forces his own hand between her back and the door and yanks her away from it. She impacts his body without elegance, and perhaps without comfort, but she doesn't whimper or hide or pull away as she once had.  
"Why do you want me to stay?" he rasps, "what good is an old dog to a little bird?"

She stands up on her toes to reach his mouth, pulling on his heart somehow through his lips. 

"What good is a bird to a hound?" she replies, without dropping from her toes.

"Dinner, perhaps," he says, and she frowns at him.

"Don't be cruel for the sake of it. It doesn't suit you anymore."

He growls at her, but she puts a hand on his face, as if its nothing, as if she were blind to it. As she's always done since he took her song. He can never give it back.

"If you must go," she says, perhaps remembering the same, "would you consider going north? I'd like to see my brother again. Jon."

She says this with her fingers fiddling aimlessly with his hair, her other hand still pressing back against his heartbeat. He growls at her again.

"Aye, little bird. But that would cost you a song."

And just as he'd done before, though now without his dagger or plate, he picks her up and swings her round from her doorframe to her feather bed and drops her into it, crashing down on top of her, knees dug into the mattress and thighs dug into hers. He grabs her face by her chin though he doesn't need to force her to look at him. her eyes are wide, but she already is. She swallows, throat straining visibly, and all at once he wants to put his mouth on it to feel its movement with his teeth and with his tongue, and she says:

"Then a song you shall have, my lord," and he feels his grimace give and soften, and he falls in around her, pinning his mouth to hers. He will not stay. But this time, perhaps, he will take her. Let her sing to him, all the way north.


End file.
